A Taste of Something Sweet
by images-in-words
Summary: The two things Brittany Pierce loved most in the world were ice cream and dancing. When her dancing dreams ended tragically, she let her parents groom her to take over the family business: the Pierce Family Ice Cream Company. At their flagship store near the NYC theater district, she meets a young student named Rachel Berry, and finds something even sweeter than ice cream. (AU)
1. Chapter 1

**A Taste of Something Sweet**

 _ **chapter one**_

The Pierce Family Ice Cream Company had a long, illustrious history in and around New York City. Its reputation as a maker of extraordinarily delicious frozen confections was well-known throughout the city's five boroughs, handed down through several generations by its founders, Andrew and Philomena Pierce, to their children, William and Samantha Pierce, then to their son Pierce and his wife Whitney, and now to Pierce's daughter - a blonde, blue-eyed, constantly spinning ball of charm and delightfully infectious enthusiasm named Brittany.

There were two things Brittany Pierce loved more than anything else in the world: ice cream and dancing. In fact, when she was growing up, her parents had felt real concern that she would choose dance over the family business. She was amazingly talented, and while it would have saddened the Pierce parents to turn over control of the company to someone else one day, they couldn't deny that there was a distinct possibility that Brittany would choose her love of dance over the family legacy – but there was no question that if she did, they would love and support her just the same. They would encourage her to go for what she wanted and do whatever else it might take to help make her dream of becoming a professional dancer a reality.

Growing up, Brittany herself had felt conflicted over her two great passions. She loved dancing, she really did, and she knew that she was good enough to make a career out of it if she chose to pursue it. Yet she also loved the business that had given her family a very comfortable life, and the city they called home. If she decided to become a dancer, she would probably need to move out to Los Angeles or Hollywood one day, auditioning day in and day out for spots in music videos, TV shows and movies, or even on national music tours, and while that was exciting to her, she was so much a New York girl at heart that it was difficult for her to imagine being anywhere else. She loved the subways and the buses and the noisy, crowded streets and the _life_ of the city, the energy that moved her as much as any song ever had. Brittany was about _motion,_ about the pulse and the flow and the pounding beat of every day in New York, and she just couldn't picture herself absorbing the energy of another city in the same visceral way that she'd always experienced the city of her birth.

Unfortunately, the choice was made for her one tragic day, not long after she turned seventeen. She could still remember the scene vividly, still recall the excruciating pain and anguish she'd felt on that day in dance class, when the slightest of incorrectly executed movements had blown her left knee – and her dreams of dancing for a living – to bits. Several surgeries and interminable rounds of intense, grueling physical therapy and rehabilitation later, and even now, five years later, that knee still announced its hurt angrily whenever bad weather threatened, and on those days, she could hardly walk without whimpering every time she took a step.

But Brittany was not one to look back in anger, or to dwell with regret upon what might have been. Yes, she had grieved, she had mourned the loss of her dream, cried herself to sleep more than a few times; but she refused to allow herself to get lost inside that grief, to become bitter and angry at the world for denying her. Instead, knowing that there was nothing she could do to change things, she simply accepted the situation as it was, shrugged and moved on.

So it was that she announced to her parents her decision to go to college for business after she graduated from high school, and when she finished with that, she would happily take over the company's flagship store near the city's fabled theater district. Of course, the irony of that was not lost upon her when she realized how many professional dancers were making their living on stage eight times a week there, and how many of them she was likely to meet working at and running the store. She vowed then that she wouldn't let even that bother her, and now, four years later, that resolve held firm. The store was wildly popular, the beneficiary of a steady stream of tourists, theatergoers and students from the nearby New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, or NYADA for short, and Brittany was proud of its success.

She couldn't have known that her sweet and tasty desserts would eventually bring something even sweeter and more fulfilling into her life.

* * *

It was another incredibly ordinary day at the store, scooping out frozen deliciousness to all manner of customers, from the very young to the very old and all ages in between, when a short young woman with long, lustrous brown hair and the deepest, largest brown eyes Brittany had ever seen came strolling into the place with the most intriguing expression on her pretty face, a look somewhere between amusement and grave concern. She was wearing a black short-sleeved top with a print of a large yellow bow across the front of it, a remarkably short red skirt, black socks and red shoes, and she walked up to the counter with the kind of graceful ease that Brittany instantly recognized as that of one who had extensive dance training.

"You have quite an array of interesting flavors on offer here," she began. "I admire the diversity, but I must say that it makes choosing what to get extraordinarily difficult. I'm usually a fruit sorbet kind of girl, but today I'm feeling...I don't know, like I want something _different_ , but I don't know _what_. There are just so many things, and sometimes I feel as though I want _all_ of them, because if I don't taste _everything_ , then I'm sure I'll be missing out on something amazing. Like, what if the thing I _don't_ choose is exactly the thing that will make my day absolutely perfect? Wouldn't _that_ be terrible? But then again, how would I know if that were the case? It's impossible to determine that, really. My best friend would tell me I'm overthinking things, and maybe I am, but I feel strongly that one should always take every option into consideration when faced with a difficult decision."

Brittany's eyes widened in astonishment. She had never heard anyone say so much in just a single breath. Nor had she ever heard anyone cast the choice of what type of ice cream to eat in such dramatic terms. She wanted to laugh at the incredibly serious look on the girl's face, yet she found it kind of adorable and endearing. Plus, she was so small that Brittany wanted to scoop her up and carry her home in her purse.

The girl continued to stare up at the list of flavors on the signboard on the wall behind the counter, as though one of them was going to light up and announce itself as the winner of today's daily contest. Brittany watched the gears turning in the girl's head as she weighed the pros and cons of each flavor. After taking care of the only other customer in the store, Sugar, Brittany's appropriately named assistant, ambled over to Brittany's side to observe the silent struggle, and Brittany's fascination with it. The gum-chewing redhead looked at Brittany in confusion, then at the girl, and then at Brittany again before shrugging her shoulders and shuffling off into the back room without saying a word.

After a few more moments, Brittany decided that she just couldn't take it anymore. "Cookies and cream," she blurted out.

As though awakening from a trance, the girl shook her head, blinked twice and said, "I'm sorry?"

"Cookies and cream," Brittany repeated. "That's your flavor. That's your perfect thing for today."

"Really?" the girl asked, as though she didn't quite trust whatever process had brought Brittany to this conclusion. "How...how do you know?"

Brittany smiled sweetly at the girl's perplexed, slightly distrustful expression. "It's my _job_ to know these things," she explained. "I know people, and I know ice cream, and this business is about bringing the two together. You have the look of someone whose favorite flavor is cookies and cream, but just doesn't know it yet."

She grabbed a small cup and scooped some cookies and cream ice cream into it, then stuck a spoon into the ice cream and set the cup on the counter in front of the still puzzled looking girl.

"Here. Try it. On the house. That way, if I'm wrong, no harm, no foul." She smiled again, wider this time, truly enjoying the girl's bewilderment. "But I'm almost never wrong about these things."

The girl's eyes narrowed, but she took the treat-filled cup anyway. "So you're...like, what, an ice cream psychic?"

Now Brittany actually did laugh. She couldn't help it – this girl was so unusual, so different from anyone she'd ever met before. "Something like that," she answered, handing the girl a napkin. "Now, go sit over there and try your ice cream before it all melts." She pointed to one of several small booths over by the front window, against the wall, beneath a large framed photograph of the Pierce Family Ice Cream Company's founders. "Go on. Scoot."

The girl looked at her ice cream as though it were some foreign, unknown substance, then back at Brittany's reassuring smile, and moved off to sit at the small table.

Sugar emerged from the back room once again as the strange, small girl sat down. She stood beside Brittany and watched as the girl poked at the ice cream with her spoon as though examining it.

"What _is_ that chick's deal?" Sugar whispered. "And why do you attract all the weird ones?"

"Shush. She's about to try her cookies and cream."

"I take it back. _You're_ the weird one."

Suddenly a loud moan filled the entire store, and both proprietor and assistant blushed in embarrassment at the long, drawn out sound. Brittany in particular was glad that there were no other customers in the place at the moment. Sugar looked down, covering her mouth with one hand to keep from laughing.

"Oh my _god!"_ the girl exclaimed. "You were right! This is _wonderful!_ Absolutely the _perfect_ taste for today. For any day, really," she gushed between enthusiastic bites. "I still don't know _how_ you knew I would love this, but I do. I really do!"

Then she looked at her watch and a frown replaced the beatific smile that had lit up her face only a moment earlier. "Oh, dear. It's almost time for my Vocal Studies class. If I don't leave now, I'll only be ten minutes early, and that just won't do. I'm always _at least_ fifteen minutes early for class. If it's good to be _on_ time, it's even better to be _ahead_ of time, my fathers always told me."

The girl slid out from her chair and hurried over to the door, tossing the cup, napkin and spoon into the trash receptacle all at once. Then she turned and said, with the brightest, widest smile Brittany had ever seen, "I'm Rachel Berry, and that was the most delightfully delicious frozen item I have ever enjoyed. I would like you to know that I will most assuredly return to enjoy it, or perhaps another of your wonderful flavors, again soon. And now I really must be going. Goodbye, and thank you very much!"

And with that, she was gone, quick as the warm breeze that followed through the door in her wake.

"Wow," said Sugar. "That girl was, like, _way_ out there. You really think she'll be back?"

Brittany's gaze remained pinned to the spot by the door where Rachel had stood, feeling not quite sure of what had just happened. The whole episode had been so surreal, it almost seemed like a dream to her. A weird, but very pleasant dream.

"I hope so. I really hope so."


	2. Chapter 2

**A Taste of Something Sweet**

 _ **chapter two**_

When Rachel returned to the dorm room she shared with her best friend, she was not surprised to see Santana Lopez seated in the middle of the small living area, barefoot, wearing only a white tank top and blue denim short shorts, her hair up in a messy bun, glasses on, eyes fixed in concentration, hunched over her beloved cello and practicing her fingering on the instrument's long, graceful neck. Rachel could practically see the imaginary notes floating above Santana's head as she ran through the piece of music she was trying to master. She'd composed it for NYADA's upcoming fall showcase competition, and it was so fiendishly difficult that even she, a bona fide classical virtuoso attending the school on a full scholarship, was having trouble actually playing it. That was Santana, though; she was always pushing herself, always striving towards perfection, always trying to learn more and be better – no, be the _best._

And that tireless work ethic was what made them kindred spirits in Rachel's eyes: Santana's passion, her ambition, her determination and desire to succeed against all odds in one of the most competitive and difficult disciplines in the musical world was very much like Rachel's own. It was no wonder, then, that the two of them had struck up an instant friendship upon discovering they were roommates a year ago.

Yet although they were quite similar in many respects, they were also very different. Where Rachel was intense and exacting and bordering on obsessed with routine, outside of her marathon practices, Santana was easygoing and free-spirited. And while Rachel was actually a mass of fears and insecurities beneath the veneer of supreme confidence she projected, always worried that maybe, just maybe, someone thought she somehow wasn't as super-talented as she'd always believed, Santana truly didn't care what anyone else thought of her. It was why, although her professors frowned upon it, Santana hauled herself and her cello into a van with three guys and another girl to play with a rock band in small, dingy clubs practically every weekend. For her part, Santana figured that as long as she kept her grades up – which she did quite nicely, thank you – the stuffy old instructors here at NYADA couldn't say too much. Especially since, like Rachel, she had been personally recruited by the school's legendary director, the venerable Madam Carmen Tibideaux.

Santana looked up and waved at Rachel as she walked into the living area and plopped herself down on the small couch situated opposite the flat-screen TV she'd brought from home. The girl was clearly quite tired from the day's exertions, but she still had a curious little smile on her face, and that made Santana curious as well.

"Hey, short stack," she greeted as Rachel kicked off her shoes. "Rough day today?"

"Vocal Studies was a bear as always," Rachel groaned. "I'd thought my teacher back home was tough, but Ms. Rhodes is a true taskmaster. Still, I suppose I'd expect nothing less of a former Tony Award winner, which I hope to be one day myself."

"Still, you don't seem to be quite as unhappy as you usually are after an afternoon with April Rhodes," Santana observed, pushing her rectangular-framed glasses up from where they had slid about halfway down her nose. "Something _else_ happened, didn't it? Something you're dying to tell me, but don't know quite how to explain because you haven't figured out what it means, or if it actually means anything at all yet. Am I right?"

Laughing as she brought her feet and legs up so that she was properly lying on the couch, Rachel shook her head. "You know me frighteningly well, Santana," she said, acknowledging her roommate's soft fist pump of triumph. "Almost _too_ well."

Santana shrugged. "Isn't that what best friends are for?" She fixed Rachel with the penetrating stare that had been so ruthlessly efficient at drawing all of Rachel's secrets out of her over the course of the last year. "Now spill. What – or should I say _who –_ happened? Tell me, or I will drag this rosined bow of doom across your person until you beg me to let you confess!"

"No! Not the rosined bow of doom!" Rachel cried in mock terror. "Anything but that!"

They laughed heartily together for a few moments at the silliness they loved to share, but when they calmed down, Santana's eyes grew serious once again. "Seriously, Berry. I know that look. I haven't seen it on your face since...well, not since you were with Harmony."

Santana sighed when she saw the way Rachel's face grew somber at the mention of that name. Yes, it had been a while since everything that had happened, and time really had helped to heal the pain of it all to the point where it was now just a dull ache, but Rachel still found it difficult even to hear her name spoken aloud, much less to talk about her.

"I know, I'm sorry. But look, that's all in the past. Maybe whoever you met today could be part of your future. You never know."

Her heart lifted when she saw the darkness that had settled upon Rachel immediately dissipate at the reference to whoever this mystery person was. Clearly, her best friend was at least intrigued by this person, if not outright taken with them. She had just decided to press for more information when Rachel unexpectedly opened up.

"This is going to sound weird, but...I don't know her name. At least, not yet. I didn't ask, strangely, because I almost always ask for people's names. It's the polite thing to do, I think, and not to do so is terribly rude, at least that's what my dads always told me – oh! What if she thinks I _was_ rude, leaving the way I did, just rushing off to class without asking her name so that I could properly wish her a good day? Oh, that would be just _awful,_ wouldn't it?"

Santana had learned early on in their friendship that it was best to just let Rachel exhaust herself whenever these word torrents burst out of her; so once she was certain that there were no more words coming at the moment, she asked, "Where did you meet her? Here at school? In class, maybe? Is it that little Filipina who you said is always looking at you – what's her name, Starlight? Moonbeam?"

"It's Sunshine, and no, _not_ her," Rachel corrected, knowing full well that Santana knew the girl's name; she just liked making Rachel say it. "I like Sunshine well enough, but not quite like _that._ No, it was...god, this is going to sound silly, but - you know that ice cream place not far from here? The one with the big sign that says, 'Seventy-Five Flavors of Awesome'?"

Santana nodded, not sure where this was going. "Yeah. Pierce's Family Something-or-Other, right?"

"Yes!" Rachel exclaimed, clapping her hands. "That's it. Well, anyway, I went in there for a between-classes snack, which, I know, I shouldn't have, Miss July will have my head if I gain a single pound this semester – but anyway, I went in there and I just could not for the life of me decide which flavor I wanted. You know, seventy-five flavors is a _lot,_ Santana, it's almost too much choice even for the most educated and knowledgeable consumers, and I – I just had the most terrible time making a decision, and this girl, this tall, pretty blonde girl with the most amazing blue eyes, she tells me that my favorite flavor is cookies and cream, I just don't know it yet, and you know what? She was _right,_ Santana1 She was absolutely right, and it was absolutely _wonderful_." She paused for a breath, and then her face, which had been lit up with happiness at the memory, suddenly fell. "But then I looked at my watch and realized that I was dangerously close to not being fifteen minutes early for class, and that would not be accaptable at all, so I told her only that I had really enjoyed the ice cream, thanked her, and left. And only later did I realize that I'd never asked for her _name!_ "

Santana somehow managed to suppress her urge to laugh at her pint-sized best friend's look of horror and panic. If nothing else, Rachel believed in being polite and well-mannered, and the very idea that she might have been anything less than perfectly pleasant to someone, even to a complete stranger in an ice cream shop, was almost scandalous to her.

"Well, you could always just go back to the store and have another ice cream, and if she's there, you could ask for her name then," Santana suggested. "I'm sure she would appreciate the repeat business, at the very least."

Rachel's face took on an expression of thoughtful consideration as she absorbed this. She was always one to look at a situation from as many angles as possible so as to prepare for any eventual outcome. Santana had quickly learned this about her friend too, but it still made her roll her eyes every time.

"I _saw_ that, San. You know you can't hide those eye rolls from me," Rachel gently admonished. "Fortunately for you, I do believe you're right this time. It's only right that I make up for the lack of proper courtesy I displayed earlier. I'll return to the store tomorrow, and this time I will insist upon paying for the ice cream as an additional demonstration of how much I regret my poor manners."

At this, Santana held her hand up in the universal "stop" signal. "Wait, wait. Time the _hell_ out. Did I just hear you correctly? You'll pay for the ice cream _this time_? As in, she gave you the first cup for _free?_ Damn, this girl must _really_ like you, 'cause nobody gives anybody _anything_ for free around here."

"Well, she did. She gave me the ice cream _on the house,_ she said, to prove that she was almost always right when determining what flavor a customer would like best. Which, I think, proves that it had nothing to do with me, particularly, and everything to do with her customer service skills, as well as her business acumen."

Santana shook her head, laughing. "No, I think it proves that Little Miss Sweet Shop is sweet on _you._ But I know that you'll just go on believing what you want, no matter what I say."

"Wait...what if she _did_ like me? And what if I just ruined things by being so rude? Oh, San, this is _terrible!_ "

"It's terrible that she likes you?"

"No, no – it's terrible that she _might have_ liked me, and that I might have put her off liking me by not having the decency to show her enough respect to even ask for her _name!"_ Rachel cried. She began to bite at her nails, a longtime habit that manifested itself in times of stress. _"_ I have to fix this, Santana, I _have_ to," she said worriedly. "I will not have anyone in this city, especially this part of it, where I hope to have a long and illustrious career, saying that I, Rachel Berry, am anything less than courteous _to_ and respectful _of_ others."

"I'm pretty sure no one would ever say that, Rachel. You have flowers delivered to Madam Tibideaux's office at the end of the month, every month. You tip the janitor who maintains the floors in Professor July's dance studio. You're the most thoughtful and conscientious person I've ever met."

Suddenly, Rachel sprang up from the couch. "Come with me, San."

"Um, come with you _where?_ In case you haven't noticed -" Santana gestured to the cello she still held upright between her legs, and at the stand holding the carefully notated sheet music at which she'd been staring since morning. " - I'm still trying to master the opening part of this piece, and it's been making me its bitch so far."

Rachel pursed her lips, her face set in an expression of grim determination. "All the more reason for you to come with me. No doubt you've been at this all day, without eating, barely drinking. You need a break, and something to eat." She held out her hand for Santana to take. "Come _on_ , get up. We won't be out too long, I promise."

Rolling her eyes again, Santana took Rachel's hand and stood up, pausing just long enough to properly put the bow and cello aside. "Are you buying me dinner? Because I must say, that would be pretty sweet, if uncharacteristically spontaneous of you."

"It's warm, so you don't need to change your clothes or get a jacket or anything," Rachel advised, ignoring Santana's question. She looped her purse over her neck, watching as her roommate grabbed her keys from the counter and stuffed them in one of the pockets of her jean shorts. "And I'll have you know that I can be _quite_ spontaneous."

Santana stuck her tongue out at her. "And I'll have _you_ know that _I_ know we're going to see your ice cream girl, because _you_ just _can't_ wait until tomorrow."

"Why put off until tomorrow what you can do tonight?" Rachel replied, choosing not to respond with an undignified gesture of her own, smiling sweetly at her roommate instead. "Now come on. If we're lucky, she'll still be there."

As they stepped out of the room and Rachel closed and locked the door behind them, Santana's stomach rumbled loudly. _Looks like it's going to be i_ _ce cream for dinner tonight,_ she thought. _There are worse things, I guess._


	3. Chapter 3

**A Taste of Something Sweet**

 _ **chapter three**_

Brittany was never entirely _present_ , exactly, even at the best of times, if one were to ask Sugar about her best friend and boss. She was prone to drifting off a little bit when things weren't busy. She could be (and often was) described as flighty, whimsical, absent-minded, maybe even a little ditzy, but those qualities were endearing rather than annoying for the most part, because they came along with a genuinely sweet and authentically funny personality. Brittany was just different in the best of ways, and Sugar loved her for it 99.99% of the time.

However, after meeting Rachel Berry earlier in the day, Sugar saw that Brittany was even more far away than usual, and that both amused and concerned her. Amused because a smitten Brittany was always fun to watch, like a kitten encountering its first ball of yarn or first sniff of catnip, but concerned because the girl had a tendency to give her heart away very easily, and therefore was exceedingly vulnerable to getting hurt. The petite musical theater student had seemed to be perfectly nice and quite harmless, but Sugar had seen enough relationship disasters happen to Brittany that she wanted to tell her to try not to fall too hard, too fast this time.

Sighing, she refrained, even as she watched Brittany absently wiping down the counter and the little tables with a dreamy look in her eyes, because she knew it wouldn't do any good. As someone famous whose name Sugar couldn't remember once said, the heart wants what it wants, and when Brittany's heart wanted someone, it wanted them fully and completely. That dreamy look was the first sign of a little crush that would very quickly become a larger one and then a full-blown infatuation.

Distracted by watching Brittany being distracted, the ringing of the little bell over the door that signaled a customer's entrance didn't register to Sugar, but the already unmistakable voice of Rachel Berry announcing herself most definitely did.

"Hello, everyone!" came the bright greeting, the sound startling both Sugar and Brittany and filling the small store because Rachel's trained herself to _project_ at all times. "I know it's probably bad for me to eat more ice cream today, what with having to keep myself in shape just in case a casting director happens to spot me on the street, or anywhere really, but the cup of cookies and cream I had earlier was just _so good_ that I can't resist wanting another."

Then they noticed the slightly taller, but darker-skinned (and more scantily clad) girl accompanying Rachel, rolling her eyes as she teasingly addressed the pint-sized singer with a sharp bark of laughter: "You sure it was a cup of cookies n' cream you were craving, or a cup of tall, blue-eyed blonde?"

There was a beat of silence, then the slap of Rachel's hand whacking the other girl's arm and the stamp of a small foot against the floor.

" _Santana!"_ Rachel admonished, her large brown eyes wide with embarrassment, her cheeks pinked with a light blush. She looked pleadingly, as though asking for help, first at Brittany, then at Sugar. Brittany seemed bewildered, while Sugar had both hands over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter. "Please forgive my friend. She's socially maladjusted."

"I resemble that remark," Santana cracked. A mirthful smile spread across her face as she rubbed her arm. "And you still hit like a five-year-old."

Brittany blinked, as though she couldn't quite believe that Rachel had returned to the store so soon – and with a friend, no less. A small smile quirked her lips upward at the antics of Rachel and Santana as they continued to squabble lightly and Sugar struggled to keep from laughing at the two of them. With a flash of her bright blue eyes, she warned Sugar to get herself under control, and then she stepped out from behind the table she'd been wiping down to cross back to her usual spot behind the large display case containing the many flavors on offer.

"Rachel! You came back!" she exclaimed, unable to keep the happiness she felt at seeing the petite object of her newfound affection from her face and voice.

"Well, yes. I _did_ say that I would, didn't I? And I am only too happy to have done so." Rachel sent a beaming smile at Brittany. Then she pointed at the girl standing beside her and continued, "Santana here is a great fan of ice cream, yet she has never enjoyed any of yours, which is a terrible shame in my opinion. Therefore, I've brought her along to correct this most egregious oversight on her part."

Santana, who had been idly looking around at their surroundings, taking note of the framed Pierce family pictures on the walls, snapped her head around, her mouth wide open in an indignant expression. " _Egregious oversight,_ my ass! You know damned well that with my classes and practice schedule, I barely have time to eat _regular_ food, let alone -"

"Ahem," Brittany cleared her throat, effectively interrupting the confrontation. "I'm sure Rachel didn't mean anything by it, Miss -?"

"Lopez," the Latina responded, turning her attention to the tall blonde behind the counter. The bubble Sugar was blowing popped. Santana's eyes flashed to her, but the red-haired girl simply shrugged and looked down at her pink-painted nails, signaling her lack of interest in getting involved, so Santana returned her gaze to Brittany. Her eyes raked up and down Brittany's form appreciatively, not at all mindful of Rachel's presence at her side. Her voice took on the quality of warm honey as she stepped up to the counter. "Santana Lopez. _Very_ pleased to make your acquaintance," she purred, extending her hand for Brittany to shake. "You must be the ice cream wonder girl that Rachel couldn't shut up about after she came home."

Another smack of the arm, another stomp of the foot, followed by an exasperated huff of annoyance. "I'm _right_ _here,_ Santana!"

"Ow!" yelped Santana, grabbing at her arm, indicating that Rachel actually _could_ hit harder than a five-year-old when she wanted to do so. "Yes, you are. Annoyingly so."

"Nice of you to notice. Now, if I purchase your ice cream, will you _please_ behave yourself?" Rachel asked, leveling a steely glare at her taller friend as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her tone left no room for any answer that was not in the affirmative. She rarely used it these days, and only ever with Santana.

"Fine," Santana grudgingly acquiesced. "But make it a large. None of this itty bitty kiddie cup bullshit for me. If I'm gonna get my ice cream deliciousness on, I'm gonna do it right."

"Great!" Brittany said, relieved that she wouldn't have to separate the two in order to prevent an all-out brawl right in the middle of her store. "What would you like, Miss Lopez?"

Rachel's continued withering glare prevented Santana from saying what she really wanted to say, which was _Call me Santana, please – preferably_ _ **after**_ _nine o'clock, as my lame-ass roommate is usually asleep by eight-thirty_. Instead, she peered up at the large sign posted way up on the wall behind the counter, listing all the available flavors.

"Brittany can predict what you're going to get before you even know it," Rachel told her. "She's like a psychic or something. It's amazing."

"Yeah, _amazing,"_ Sugar drawled, looking at Brittany and sticking out her tongue. It actually _was_ pretty cool, but she'd never admit it out loud. Brittany made no reply other than to hold up her hand in the universal _stop_ sign. "Whatever."

Sensing both a challenge and an opportunity to get Rachel all flustered - two things she absolutely could not resist - Santana rose to the bait like a fish after a particularly attractive hook. "Okay, blondie. Dazzle me. What am I thinking of getting?"

"Well, let me think for a minute...okay, so I'm thinking you're a chocolate girl, mostly. You like it rich and sweet. But you also love caramel, whipped cream and cherries, so you probably want a sundae with all of that, plus hot fudge."

In the future, Rachel would enjoy watching the video she had secretly taken, capturing the look of complete shock on Santana's face, over and over again. It was truly a moment she would cherish forever.

"Uh-uh, _no way._ You must have told her that when you were in here before!" Santana sputtered, turning to Rachel and angrily shaking her head in denial.

"I did no such thing, Santana! Are you seriously calling Brittany's integrity into question, right here in her own shop? It's one thing for you to insult _me –_ it's hardly the first time that's happened, after all -but _she's_ done nothing to deserve that, and I simply won't stand for it. You need to apologize, _right now._ "

After a few seconds of intense glaring at each other, Santana finally looked away. She and Rachel argued and disagreed often, but they were always able to get past their conflicts because they loved and respected each other - and because Santana usually didn't care enough about the subject of the fight to keep it going. Also, while she'd be the first to admit that she had a healthy ego, it wasn't so large that she couldn't admit it when Rachel was right, which was more often than she actually _did_ care to admit.

"Okay, fine, whatever," she muttered, shrugging her shoulders as she jammed her hands into the pockets of her soft, faded denim shorts. She turned to Brittany with a contrite expression. "I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have said that. Are we cool?"

Brittany smiled at the look of genuine relief on Rachel's face. Clearly, Santana was more than a handful, yet it was just as obvious that they cared deeply for each other in a sisterly sort of way – and if she was Rachel's best friend, then Brittany was determined that she would be _her_ friend, too. So she leaned over the counter and extended her hand, with all her fingers closed except her pinky, which she wiggled playfully. Her smile grew wider still at the confused look that clouded Santana's very pretty face.

"You've never pinky-shook before, I take it," Brittany explained. Santana nodded. "This is how I let people know that we are not only _cool,_ we're friends. So come on, give me your pinky."

Rachel couldn't help but giggle at the awkward way in which Santana mimicked the tall blonde's gesture, and the gentle manner in which Brittany coaxed her along, her voice low and soft, as though she were teaching a puppy to roll over or something. It was really too cute.

"Like this?" Santana asked, sounding oddly vulnerable and unsure of herself. The tough-girl confidence she usually showed melted away, revealing how all the years she'd spent devoted almost exclusively to her musical studies had made her a little uncertain in unexpected social situations like this. Rachel found it strangely touching to see how important it was to her that she got the gesture just right.

"Yup, just like that."

Brittany's pale pinky finger wrapped itself around Santana's caramel-hued one, and with that, the pact of friendship was sealed, as far as she was concerned. She figured it might take Santana a little more time to see it that way, but she didn't mind. Once the pinkies were linked, they were linked forever in her mind. At any rate, she would take the way Santana returned her smile as a good sign. That was just how she was.

"Now that this Hallmark moment is over, can I get my damned ice cream already? And don't be skimping on that caramel, or that hot fudge, either."

Rachel could only laugh helplessly when Brittany gave a snappy salute and replied, "Yes, ma'am. Coming right up."

They retired to one of the little tables as a small group of customers bustled into the store. Rachel unfolded a napkin to make a little tablecloth, then set her cup of cookies n' cream down upon it, earning herself the expected eye roll and look of amusement from Santana, while the other girl scooped the cherry out of her mountain of whipped cream and slurped it down.

"Look at her," Rachel whispered, watching Brittany completely charm an adorable pair of little twin boys as they were lifted up by their parents to look into the display case at all the heavenly delights contained within. "She's amazing. Isn't she _amazing_ , Santana?"

Santana turned in her seat to watch the scene. The little boys looked astonished at the sheer variety of flavors, their parents laughing and smiling with pride at their fingers pointing this way and that. Sugar and Brittany were in their element now, taking as much joy in the whole thing as the children. Enthusiastic nods of floppy haired little heads finalized the transactions, and soon both parents and children were walking out the door, each in possession of a different flavor cone as the little bell rang above them.

"Yeah, she is. So when are you asking her out?" Santana asked around a mouthful of extra rich chocolate fudge ice cream, letting out a small moan of pleasure at the explosion of flavor on her tongue. " _Damn,_ this is good. Im'a blame you for all the pounds I'm gonna gain now that I know about this place."

Rachel coughed at the question, then wiped at her mouth with a napkin. " _What?"_ she sputtered. _"_ Ask her out? I just met her _today,_ Santana!"

"Oh, don't give me that scandalized look. You're obviously into her, and for some reason, she seems to be into you, so why not? What do you have to lose? The worst she can do is say no."

"But – but don't you think I should - _we_ should, I mean – get to know each other a little more before we take that step? I mean, that's a pretty big step, and I wouldn't want to be presumptuous or anything..." Rachel's voice trailed off when she caught Brittany blatantly staring at her.

"Oh, believe me, you wouldn't be _presuming_ anything. That chick definitely wants all up on you, big time," Santana chuckled. "Yeah, I saw her staring too." Then she licked some stray caramel from her lip, raised an eyebrow and smirked that infuriating smirk of hers. "Of course, if you're too chicken to ask her out...then maybe _I_ will."

"You will do _no such thing,_ Santana Lopez!" Rachel huffed. She would have stamped her foot, but her feet were currently suspended above the floor, so she could only stamp at air, much to her frustration. "Brittany is sweet and innocent and – and – she's _mine!"_

"She's _yours,_ is she? Okay, so ask her out. She's standing right there, just waiting for you to make your move. Go ahead. Let's see your game, if you've got any."

Now it was Rachel's turn to roll her eyes. "Santana, relationships are not a _game,_ as you put it. They take time and thought and planning and careful consideration and – _what are you doing?_ "

Her eyes widened in horror as Santana rose from her seat and slowly walked over to the counter with a decidedly predatory look on her flawless face.

"So, I was just wondering, " she began in an exaggeratedly loud voice, looking back over her shoulder as Rachel remained at the table, fuming. "There's kind of a performance thing happening at NYADA next week. Rachel's going to be singing, and -"

Rachel sprang up, red-faced, knocking her cup of ice cream upside down onto the little tablecloth she'd spread out, and shouted, _"I would like to know if you would be interested in attending, then maybe having some coffee or a bite to eat afterwards!"_

"OW!" Sugar cringed, holding her hands over her ears. "Take it _down_ a notch, will ya? Any louder and you'll shatter the frickin' windows!"

Brittany's blue eyes sparkled, and her happy smile made Rachel's heart skip a beat.

"That sounds like fun," she said without hesitation. "Yes. I would love to."

Santana winked at her best friend. She knew she'd get more than an earful from her later, but she didn't care. It was worth it just to see the normally calm, cool and controlled Rachel Berry completely overwhelmed with panic. "It's a date, then?"

Finally, the foot stamp came, like a non-verbal exclamation point. Santana just laughed at the petite diva's obvious annoyance; sometimes, the girl just needed a little push, and if she could have a little fun while providing it, so much the better.

"It's a date," Brittany said, feeling a strange mixture of amusement and guilt at being amused by the push and pull dynamic of these quirky friends. She grabbed a napkin and wrote her phone number on it with one of the pens they kept by the cash register for customers to sign their credit card receipts. "This is my cell. Call or text me the details as soon as possible, 'cause if it's formal, I'll need to get myself a dress."

"It's formal," Santana answered, pocketing the folded-up napkin. "Don't wear too much jewelry, though. Rachel thinks it's _ostentatious_ or something."

Rachel stood there, blinking, not quite processing what had just happened. She had just asked this beautiful girl she barely knew to come see her perform and then have coffee, and for once, she found that she couldn't even be angry at Santana's meddling. She tried to form words to reply, wanting to be smooth and graceful, but somehow her brain and her mouth seemed not to be in sync, and all she could do was smile helplessly.

"Did you break her?" Sugar asked, looking as though she was considering whether or not a call to 911 was in order. "I don't know if our insurance covers that."

Santana laughed again. Oh, yeah. Rachel was _so_ going to kill her when they got home. Still – _totally_ worth it.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Taste of Something Sweet**

 _ **chapter four**_

The week before the showcase passed so slowly that each tick of the clock became painful for both Rachel and Santana. Rachel, who was normally so calm and self-possessed (well, except for when she gave Santana the expected dressing down after the incident at the ice cream store), felt as though she was wildly flailing about, trying desperately not to allow thoughts of Brittany to distract her from perfecting the three songs she'd chosen to sing, and failing miserably. It was as though the kind, sweet blonde behind the counter had completely taken over a large swath of Rachel's mind – and although it was a very pleasant distraction, the aspiring Broadway starlet generally did not like to have her focus drawn away from the goal she'd placed immediately in front of her. The formula for success in her life had always been total focus, total dedication, total application of her will and her talent to blowing away the competition. It was how she'd been a part of a national championship glee club in high school, how she'd won a full scholarship to this incredibly selective institution of higher learning, and now it was how she would best her rivals to achieve victory in this upcoming contest.

If she could only keep her eyes on the prize, and her mind on the goal.

Yet it seemed that every time she finally felt centered, her attention fully on the task at hand, her mind would wander, and Brittany's sparkling blue eyes and happy smile would enter her thoughts, causing everything else to just fly right out of her head. And it didn't help that after Rachel had texted her the details about the showcase, Brittany had taken to texting her almost constantly. Little jokes, pictures of cats, sweet messages of encouragement – all of it so sweet and delightful that she couldn't even begin to feel annoyed with the girl, all of it designed to make her laugh and keep her from getting too worked up over the competition.

For example:

 _Relax. You've got this._ [picture of ice cream in a little trophy inscribed with the word 'winner']

How could she _not_ relax, and laugh, and smile after seeing that? And how could she possibly get annoyed with anyone who would go to such lengths to keep her from driving herself slightly crazy with anxiety and want, as she tended to do?

Meanwhile, Santana was dealing with her own sudden crisis: the Mystery Blonde.

"I keep seeing her at the piano in the rehearsal room. She plays beautifully, but she's always got her head down, her eyes on the keys, so I can't get a look at her face. All I can see is this amazing head of perfect blonde hair," Santana told her over dinner in their room one night, in a voice tinged with wonder that she'd never heard from her best friend before. "And she sings sometimes, too. Not like you, all big and Broadway - but, like, softly, so softly, with this breathy alto voice that I just can't get out of my head. And believe me, I've tried."

"Why, Santana – you sound...dare I say... _smitten,"_ Rachel teased. The other girl looked up from her plate with a glare, but there was no heat in her eyes, just a pleasant glaze that revealed the truth in Rachel's words. "Oh my God! You _are!_ Santana, this is wonderful!" She clapped her hands in delight, then turned thoughtful, missing Santana's eye-roll at her pensive expression. "But...wait a minute. You haven't told me her name, which obviously means you don't even _know_ it. Why?"

"Because I haven't _asked_ ," Santana replied around a mouthful of Hunan chicken. "And because, if you haven't noticed – which I'm sure you _haven't_ , since you barely notice _anything_ when you're getting ready for a performance, and that's without even _mentioning_ your new ice cream obsession – I'm still trying to master the piece I'm supposed to be playing at my _own_ showcase. And I can't do that if I'm trying to chase down the Mystery Blonde's name and number."

"So you _do_ want to find out more about her! Oh, San, I'm so excited for you! You haven't liked anyone since...well, the less said about _that,_ the better," Rachel said, rising from the table and her plate of vegetable lo mein to pace around the small kitchen area. "I'll ask around the piano department, or – _oh!_ Of course! I'll find out from Brad. He never talks, for some reason, but he must know everything and everyone around there, because honestly, I don't think he ever leaves. I'm pretty sure he sleeps on the piano bench in the auditorium. Yes, I'm certain that I can get the information out of him - even if I have to get him to write it down, or draw pictures or something."

Santana groaned, shaking her head, then leaning back in her chair and draping an arm over her eyes. "God, Rachel, _no,_ please. I don't want to - I _can't_ get involved with anyone right now. You know how I feel about this. We've been over it before. Look, I'll admit that I'm...intrigued by this girl. Maybe...maybe I'll reconsider after the showcase, but right now, I – I _don't_ think it's a good idea."

Rachel bit her lip and looked her best friend in the eye, trying to gauge the honesty in her words. Santana had a habit of saying one thing while really feeling another, and Rachel knew her well enough to know when the girl was in denial. As expected, the denial was there, but there was also desire...and fear. Santana was actually _afraid_ that she could fall for this mystery girl! Which, of course, made Rachel even more determined to find out who she was, and get her into Santana's orbit.

It was Rachel's solemn belief – and her experience – that everybody wanted to find love, no matter how much they claimed otherwise, and more than that, they _deserved_ to find it. She knew that Santana was lonely, regardless of her repeated (and quite emphatic) protests to the contrary. Granted, she'd admitted to it only after a night of wine drinking and ill-advised intimacy, at the end of which they'd agreed that being together in that way would probably jeopardize their friendship, but still – the truth was the truth, no matter how awkwardly it had been revealed.

Not long after that, Rachel altered her usual routes to and from her classes so that she would pass by the glass-doored piano room as frequently as possible in the hope that she would get a good look at the Mystery Blonde. No one had captured Santana's imagination like this in a very long time _– too_ long a time, in Rachel's view – and so Rachel's curiosity was triggered as well. She knew her roommate would disapprove, but she couldn't help herself. And it wasn't as though Santana hadn't gone out of her way to check out Brittany, after all. Turnabout was fair play, and truthfully, Rachel simply wanted Santana to be happy. If she could play some small part in bringing some real joy into Santana's life, well, where was the harm in that?

She'd expected that the girl would be pretty; that was a given. Santana herself was stunning, and she knew it. Rachel couldn't blame her for having a healthy ego on that score. But when she walked by and finally caught a glimpse of the elusive object of Santana's repressed affection, Rachel found herself stopped dead in her tracks, scarcely able to believe the girl was even real.

The Mystery Blonde – for that was _absolutely_ who it was, she was sure of it – looked like a porcelain doll, so perfectly sculpted was her face, so lovely was her pale skin. And her eyes were the most extraordinary shade of green – it took Rachel a moment to find the proper word for it; yes, _hazel –_ and flecked with gold, like tiny stars afloat in the calmest of seas. Rachel couldn't help but stare, especially when the girl smiled at her, tilting her head to invite her into the room.

Rachel pointed at herself in disbelief, as if to say, _me?_ She looked around at the sparsely populated hallway, sure that the Mystery Blonde was signaling for someone else to join her, but no – it was definitely Rachel she was asking. She blinked when her phone beeped with a 'new text' sound; it was Santana, letting her know that she'd seen a sign on the door to Non-Verbal Acting 101 informing everyone that the class had been cancelled. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. Now she didn't have to be torn between meeting the Mystery Blonde and going to class. She quickly typed a reply telling Santana that she was in the piano room, if she wanted to come find her, then brought her attention back to the girl sitting at the piano.

Shyly, she returned the girl's smile, feeling incredibly inadequate. Then she took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was Rachel Berry - and therefore equal to any situation - pulled the door open, and walked with what she hoped was a confident stride right up to the girl.

"Hello, I'm Rachel Berry," she said as she stuck out her hand for the Mystery Blonde to shake. Up close, the girl was even more beautiful, blindingly so; Rachel had to force herself not to squint as she looked at her.

The blonde favored her with a small smile of amusement and took the offered hand. "I know who you are," she replied, her voice quiet and breathy, just as Santana had described it. Her grip was gentle, her skin baby-soft. "Everybody at this school knows who you are. You're the 'It Girl.' The next big thing on Broadway. It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. Er..." Rachel gestured to the piano bench. "...may I sit down, please?"

"Oh!" the girl exclaimed mildly. "I'm sorry about that. Of course. Go right ahead." She shifted to make more room on the bench.

Rachel lowered herself down next to the Mystery Blonde, tamping down a rather un-ladylike grunt as she did. The girl watched her with an amused (but not unkind) expression; Rachel got the feeling that was just the way she looked at everything, at the world in general, not just at her.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking in the girl's simple white blouse and long, flowing yellow skirt. "I didn't get your name before."

"That's because I didn't give it to you," the girl replied. "I'm Quinn." She smiled then - a _real_ smile that stretched across her face and crinkled her perfect little nose in the most perfect little way. "Quinn Fabray."

"And you're a piano major, obviously," Rachel said, smiling back, happy that she no longer had to refer to this girl in her mind as the Mystery Blonde. "I have a friend who's heard you play. She says you're very talented."

Quinn chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh, she does? Well, I don't know about _that_." She paused, placed her fingers on the keys, stared down at them as though they were somehow foreign to her. "I mean, yes, I've been playing since I was two and all, but it's really hard to know if that's what got me in here, or if it was the big check my father wrote – which, if I understand things correctly, they're using to establish a new Entertainment Law department. A not at all subtle suggestion from Daddy as to what _he_ thinks my major should be."

As Quinn brushed a lock of hair so blonde it was almost white away from her exquisitely formed face, Rachel saw a flash of hurt and sadness in the girl's eyes. At that moment, she realized that Santana and Quinn had more in common than she could have imagined. This could make for a highly combustible coupling – or a very passionate one.

Not quite sure as to what she could say about the dynamics of Quinn's family, Rachel chose to take a different conversational tack. "Play something. As you know, I'm a singer, and there's no purer setting for a singer than the simple and time-honored piano and vocal format. Do you know _Memory,_ from the incredibly popular and successful Andrew Lloyd Webber musical _Cats?"_

Quinn stared at her for a moment, then blinked. "So it's true. You really _do_ speak in paragraphs."

Thrusting her lips into a pout, Rachel protested, "Full and complete sentences, yes. Paragraphs? No. That, I categorically deny."

"Noted," Quinn chuckled. "Now, to answer your question: yes, of course I know _Memory._ It's a beautiful song. I'd love to hear you sing it. My voice isn't exactly made for it."

"Actually, I've heard that your voice is quite nice. _Angelic_ was the word my friend used to describe it, if I remember correctly."

That drew a more full-throated laugh from Quinn, who shook her head in disbelief. "Is your friend planning on becoming an agent? Because if she is, I want to hire her as soon as she's got her license or degree or whatever."

"Laugh if you will, but my friend is the most honest person I've ever known. If Santana says something, I've learned never to doubt its veracity. As she always tells me, she's all about -" Rachel raised her hands and drew finger quotes in the air to emphasize the next words. "- _keeping it real_."

A single perfectly shaped eyebrow rose over one luminous hazel eye, and Quinn surrendered to Rachel's insistence. "Well, okay then," she said. "Please thank your friend - _Santana -_ for me, and tell her that I'd like to meet her sometime. She sounds...interesting."

Because Quinn didn't yet know Rachel all that well, she couldn't tell that the smile on the petite singer's face was the one she wore whenever she was fist-pumping and shouting _Yes!_ in her head. Santana always called it "the cat, post-canary dinner, grin."

"Oh, she is," Rachel replied simply. "And rest assured, I will. Now, shall we sing?"

" _You_ shall. I'll play."

"We'll see about that. I've yet to meet anyone who could resist Sir Lloyd-Webber's sumptuous vocal melodies."

The slow, simple piano melody began, and then Rachel closed her eyes and tapped into her deep emotional well, imagining herself as the forlorn cat in the show, wandering a desolate, moonlit street and lamenting her fate. Neither girl noticed the audience that began to gather around them, taking in their impromptu performance with a hush normally reserved for actual theater shows. Quinn's head was down, her gaze focused on the piano keys, while Rachel, still immersed in her imaginary world, belted out the sad song with the skill of a seasoned stage veteran, the depth and timbre of her voice belying her tender age.

True to Rachel's prediction, Quinn began to sing along without realizing or thinking about it at all. Her soft, breathy alto voice meshed perfectly with Rachel's deeper, richer tones, and by the end of the song, there was hardly a dry eye in the room. The small audience's rapturous applause woke them like an alarm from their shared dream, and neither Quinn nor Rachel could suppress the blushes warming their respective faces and the genuine smiles of appreciation they gave in return for the praise they received.

In fact, Rachel was so busy soaking up the enthusiastic applause and compliments that she failed to notice a certain dark-haired, caramel-complected girl standing alongside a taller blonde with striking blue eyes, both wiping tears away. As the small crowd broke up, the two walked off without the diva ever seeing them, Santana first, Brittany hurrying behind.

Brittany called out, "Santana? Santana, wait! Why are we leaving? I thought we were here to surprise Rachel."

"Because, Britt," Santana replied, her voice stricken, as though she had just overheard something she wished she hadn't, "The girl at the piano? That was the Mystery Blonde. Or at least she _was._ Now I know her name: Quinn. Quinn Fabray. Which, of course, she's got a beautiful name. How could I have expected anything less?"

Brittany stopped walking, eyed Santana with a knowing look. Then she tilted her head as a crooked grin spread across her face. "Oh! I see what this is. You like her. Mysterious Quinn, I mean. You _like_ like her. The way I like Rachel."

Hanging her head in distress, all Santana could do was admit the truth she didn't want to face, but could no longer avoid or deny.

"Yes, damn it. I really like her. I don't want to, but fuck it, yeah, I do. But she doesn't know it, or who I am."

Brittany was bewildered. In her experience, these things were simple: if you liked someone, you let them know, and let things follow from there. What was Santana afraid of?

"Why didn't you introduce yourself, then? Or let Rachel introduce you? I'm sure she would have been only too happy -"

Annoyance flashed in Santana's eyes, to Brittany's surprise. "She – she didn't have the _right!"_ the Latina shouted in exasperation. _"_ To talk to her. To tell her anything about me. That was for _me_ to do, when I was ready."

"Santana – maybe she thought you'd _never_ be ready," Brittany said in the patient, soothing voice that she usually reserved for recalcitrant children who just couldn't make up their minds as to which flavor of ice cream they wanted. "That Quinn girl...she's pretty. Like, really, _really_ pretty. And one day, maybe one day soon, someone's going to come along, someone who's not waiting for a 'right moment' that may never arrive, and snap her up, and then you'll be super mad at yourself for not doing the same." At this, the look of anger on Santana's face dissolved, replaced by one of fear. "Look, Rachel is your best friend, right?" Santana nodded, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Then you know she's doing this to help you. She just doesn't want you to be sad anymore."

Santana sighed, hugging herself in frustration. She bowed her head and kicked at an imaginary rock on the floor. "I...I know that, Brittany. It's just – look, some things...some things are hard for me. Well, _now_ they are, anyway. The last time I put myself out there...well, I got really hurt and it sucked. It really, really sucked. You have no idea how much."

"I'm sorry you were hurt, Santana. But you know what? There's actually something good that comes out of being hurt." Brittany thought then of the hospital, and the rehab, the lonely, agonizing hours of sadness that had seemed as though they would never end. "It's how good it feels when the hurt goes away. When you allow yourself to feel something besides the pain, and the anger you feel toward that pain. I know, believe me. I've been there, and then some. Maybe...maybe not in the same way, but I've been there just the same. You need to let it go to let something else in. Something _better._ Forget the sour so you can taste the sweet again."

The tears finally fell from Santana's eyes, and the fear and doubt that Brittany had seen in them from the moment they'd met finally vanished, replaced at last by something that looked like hope. She was about to gather the crying girl into her arms when suddenly, she heard Rachel's voice behind her.

" _Brittany?!_ Is that – is that you? Oh my God! What are you doing here? And Santana? Why is she crying? What's wrong?"

Santana raised her head and saw the blurred image of Rachel rushing toward her, ready to console her as always. A fierce rush of affection for the tiny girl rose in her chest. And then, as Rachel came into closer view, another figure became visible, just over Brittany's shoulder.

The no-longer-a-Mystery Blonde. _Oh, no,_ Santana thought. _NO!_ Quinn Fabray was here, and she was crying in front of her. The surge of affection she'd felt for Rachel became a desire to strangle her, or to disappear into a deep hole in the ground and take the dwarf with her.

"Hi," said Quinn. Her posture was uncertain, but her voice was laden with concern. "I'm sorry. Is this a bad time?"

Brittany turned. The bright and cheerful smile on her face was puzzling to Quinn, considering the scene taking place just behind the tall, cat-eyed blonde - Rachel trying to hug Santana, the taller girl trying to push the smaller one away.

"Not at all," she said. "In fact, I think this might actually be the best possible time."

* * *

 **A short (but important) update for you. This story is so much fun to write! I hope it's just as much fun for you all to read. As always, I own none of the characters in this story, although I truly wish I did.**


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